


Is there somewhere...

by Bibanana



Series: The scenes we don't see [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, But it's fake so it's okay, F/M, Grieving John Watson, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, M/M, Post-Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Post-Reichenbach, The Major Character death is for Sherlock's fake suicide, The scenes we don't see, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:48:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23398738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bibanana/pseuds/Bibanana
Summary: John shut off the telly with trembling hands. He pressed his face into the cushions and moaned. Then, he let himself cry, really cry for the first time since his death. Sobbing and shuddering and wailing alone because he would never again be able to berate his curly haired, slightly eccentric friend for leaving limbs in the fridge. Out of his mouth came everything he never said and probably never would. Maybe somewhere another Sherlock would have responded. But not here, not now.He shook and cried and shouted but it was all muffled by the sofa’s cushions.“I love you,”
Relationships: Mary Morstan/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: The scenes we don't see [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678477
Kudos: 34





	Is there somewhere...

**Author's Note:**

> It's John's turn to hurt...  
> Eventually I'll write fluff again, but recently it's all been Sherlock's pain so I figured, fair is fair.  
> The title and the actual fic itself is vaguely inspired by the Halsey song Is There Somewhere.

John rolled over in the bed, sheets getting tangled in his legs. Despite the cold breeze coming in through the open window, he was sweating. This might be due to Mary’s warm body next to him, or perhaps he was coming down with something. He had been a little out of it the past couple of days. The digital clock on his nightstand blinks 1:00 AM. He, knowing that it would be futile to try and find sleep now, climbed clumsily out of the bed, trying not to wake his sleeping girlfriend. She was so beautiful when she slept. Always beautiful, but especially when she was sleeping. The ghost of a smile resting placidly on her lips. The lips that he had kissed so many times before. There was something about Mary, a dangerous air that floated around her. It reminded him of something that he has lost. It reminded him of who he used to be, and he missed it. He missed the thrill of the chase, the blood pumping in his veins. He missed being up against the rest of the world with only Sherlock by his side.

Maybe somewhere, in another world, there was a John who hadn’t had to give that up. A John that had acted upon his feelings sooner. Shown Sherlock that he cared before it was too late. Maybe somewhere, that would have been enough to stop him from jumping.

John was in the kitchen then, gulping water down his parched throat. Maybe somewhere, another John would have walked out of his bedroom to get water and Sherlock would be standing there at the window. Playing his violin. Maybe somewhere, John would have gotten out of bed and Sherlock would have been the one lying next to him.

So many what-ifs, so many could-have-beens. All of these might have been reality, if only John had had the courage to tell Sherlock how he felt while he still could.

Ella said it was unhealthy to think like this, to think about everything he couldn’t have. She told him to move on. Stop thinking of Mary as a substitute for Sherlock. Don’t compare his relationship with Mary to that of Sherlock. He should be thankful that Mary was so patient with him, always willing to help. So why wasn’t it enough?

When he had Sherlock, all he wanted was a steady girlfriend and now that he didn’t have Sherlock, he wasn’t satisfied with the picture perfect girlfriend, the best he could have gotten. He didn’t dare dump her, though. He knew it wasn’t fair and she deserved much more than him but he also knew that he would never find better than her. If he didn’t accept everything that Mary was offering him, chances are he would be alone forever. And with time, he might just be able to move on. Sherlock would be reduced to a mere shadow lingering over him, keeping Mary at the front of his mind.

He sat down heavily on the sofa, his head pounding. Eventually, he dozed off into a fitful sleep.

XxX

_ “Sherlock!” _

_ Falling, falling, Sherlock was falling. John recognized that this was a dream, one that he had quite frequently, but knowing how it ended didn’t stop the terror threatening to overcome him. Sherlock landed on the pavement with a sharp thud. Blood streaking his face. Lifeless eyes. Eyes that used to be so alive and excited. Eyes that could read a person’s whole life story just by flicking quickly over them. Beautiful, brilliant eyes. _

_ Now it was time for John to take Sherlock’s pulse. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want further confirmation that his friend was dead. But that was how the dream always went. So John grabbed Sherlock’s wrist, just a bit of hope that this time might be different, fluttering weakly like an injured butterfly in the back of his mind. _

_ It wasn’t. _

_ Sherlock’s wrist was silent, per usual. _

  
  


John woke up with a start, tears slithering out of his eyes, wetting his cheeks. He lurched forward, sprinted to the bathroom and vomited. He threw up everything he had until he was empty and weak and cold. He stumbled back to the couch, shaking.

XxX

“John. Honey, wake up.”

John opened his eyes to a concerned Mary peering over him, a hand on his forehead. She was fully dressed and ready for work.

“Love, you’re burning up. I called in and told them you couldn’t make it today. Look, I’ve got to run. There’s eggs on the table. Rest up, okay?”

John mumbled a thank you. And he really was thankful. He didn’t know what he would do without her.

He wasn’t hungry, despite having retched up all of last night’s dinner, so he reached for the remote and turned on the television.

After the weatherman finished covering the weather, a familiar face popped onto the screen. Sherlock Holmes. Wearing The Hat, no less. Headlines scrolled past in blaring white-on-red writing.

_ Hat Detective, Fake Genius- or not? _

_ Conspiracy Theories! _

_ The Empty Hearse Society! _

_ Possible Faked Suicide! _

John shut off the telly with trembling hands. He pressed his face into the cushions and moaned. Then, he let himself cry, really cry for the first time since his death. Sobbing and shuddering and wailing alone because he would never again be able to berate his curly haired, slightly eccentric friend for leaving limbs in the fridge. Out of his mouth came everything he never said and probably never would. Maybe somewhere another Sherlock would have responded. But not here, not now.He shook and cried and shouted but it was all muffled by the sofa’s cushions.

_ “I love you,” _

XxX

After that day, John didn’t think of Sherlock as often. Maybe a month later, he felt sure he was ready to move on. Sherlock was behind him and Mary was his future. Pure and simple. He was finally ready to propose and start a new adventure with the woman he loved. True, he would never love her the way he had loved Sherlock (screaming, violent, desperate, undying love that couldn’t be contained, constantly begging for more), Mary’s love was domestic. Safe.

John patted the bulge of the ring in his suit pocket and got into the cab.

**Author's Note:**

> I guess we all know what happens next. I hope you liked it! I wish the boys could realize their love for eachother while they can and at the same time! *rolls eyes*


End file.
